The Eye's Apple by Tialys
Glimpses of the lives of the Gamgee children.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Paper Crane: Glad you liked Peregrin and Meriadoc's personalities. Hobbit fics are the best! This chapter's for you. Thanks for the suggestion of Frodo lad.
GamgeeFest: Sorry! I know Peregrin and Pippin aren't related. Those are just terms of affection. Thanks for pointing that out! Also, glad you liked my way of determining names.
Ayslin: Thanks! You really should post your fic. I would love to read it!
Now, on with the fic.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Two: Frodo Gamgee
In which Frodo lad promises and Sam Gamgee learns to let go.
~
Note: The year is 1433. Frodo lad is 10, Elanor is 12, Rose lass is 8, Merry is 6, and Pippin is 4. Again, Frodo might be called just 'Frodo' because he is the only Frodo there now. There are others of course, but they are not in this story. Also, I know many peoples' concept of Frodo Gamgee was probably not like this (mine wasn't until I started typing actually), but I like it. So if you could alter your hard-set image of the little guy (if you have one), we can continue with my version of Frodo lad.
~
Bag End finally received its first true snowfall the winter of 1433, and Frodo Gamgee could not have been more thrilled. The only other good snowfall he had experienced had been seven years ago when he was three, and was considered by his 'overprotective' parents too young to go tromping through that deep a snowfall and catching a cold -- or worse.
'Or worse'. Frodo Gamgee had never been exactly a 'healthy' child. He never really caught a cold; it was always something worse. He had taken ill with pneumonia three times in his life, and had obtained and bearly conquered scarlet fever just the last winter. His frequent illnesses were often attributed to his diminutive size, but none were sure if it was this cause, or the other way around.
No hobbit was certain if it was for these reasons, or other completely different ones, but whatever the reason, Samwise Gamgee tended to worry over his eldest son more so than the rest of his children. Most simply dismissed it as the lad's tendency to sicken easier than other hobbit children and left it at that, but Rose Gamgee knew better. It was poor Frodo lad's name that drove her husband to be so watchful of the lad.
It was truly a token to Frodo Baggins' name that Sam treated his son that way, though Frodo lad never saw it that way. He was not allowed, though he was certainly old enough to by all hobbit rights, to climb trees, swim unsupervised, or usually play in any snowfall to bless the Shire.
But it did not matter whether Sam judged Frodo lad allowed to go out or not; Rose Gamgee had finally put her foot down on the matter.
"It's ridiculous," she finally stated to her husband. "He's ten, Sam! He needs to play with the other lads, not stay cooped up here all the time with a book, dreading of even sneezing for fear that you'll stick 'im in a bed! Every time you worry he might be sick he is." Here Rose's face softened at the stricken look on Sam's face. "He's just as tired of it as you are, love; but you need to let 'im go." Rose knew well enough why Sam thought this way, and one could really not argue with her theory.
The resemblance between Frodo lad and Sam's master was remarkable. Her son had the Baggins' appearance in completion, from his uncommonly dark hair to his startling blue eyes. But no matter how much it hurt Sam, Frodo lad had to be allowed to be normal. Lads got scrapes and bruises, they got sick, that was life; but when it happened to Frodo lad it was more -- with him it might as well have been the mortal wounding of Frodo Baggins. It somehow always seemed the same to Sam.
Sam knew his wife was right, though his own problem was more than being tired of it his son's mishaps. He agreed to Frodo's being allowed outside, but insisted on making sure his son was bundled up heavily before allowing him to set foot on the doorstep.
Frodo, upon hearing the terms of his being given admittance to the wondrous blanket of white outside his window, was ecstatic. He practically flew into the entry hall to await his father. Elanor, Rose lass, Merry and Pippin were already congregating there, struggling with assorted coats, mittens, and scarves. Frodo quickly snatched his coat off a hook and donned it with more skill than he had expected himself to have, having had few opportunities to go outside when coats were needed. Sam came into the hall as he was finishing with his mittens just as Merry and Pippin were finally heading out the door, having disentangled from the wrestle-argument concerning which scarf was whose.
"Here you are, lad." Sam murmured as he knotted a large blue scarf around his son's neck. "Now you keep that on, hear?"
"Yes, da'." Frodo had adopted all seriousness, for fear of his da' changing his mind at the last minute.
"Now your cloak, son."
Frodo's face fell. "Da'--" But the look on Sam's face silenced the oncoming protest. "No one else is--" he mumbled under his breath, but Sam's hearing was as good as ever.
"An' no one else seems to have your taste for catching every illness in the book." Sam countered as he wrapped the cloak around Frodo's tiny shoulders.
Frodo felt tears slowly begin to pick at the corners of his eyes, and turned his head down, so as to not let his da' see them. "It's not my fault." He whispered.
Sam looked up from the small broach he was clasping on his son's cloak to Frodo's hidden face. Small brown curls hung over the lad's eyes, painfully reminding him of the way Mr. Frodo had looked as they struggled through Mordor; head downcast, so Sam would not (or so Frodo had hoped) see how hard the task was for him. A small gasp escaped Sam's lips upon seeing the resemblance, and he came dangerously close to commanding his son to remove his coat and never leave the house ever, but the look in his son's eyes as they were finally raised stopped him.
"I'll be careful, da'. I won't get sick again. I promise!" Frodo's eyes were wide and hopeful, tearing all resolution in Sam's heart; and the former Ringbearer smiled.
"You make sure you don't." He commanded with mock seriousness, leaning in to look his son in the eyes. Frodo nodded vigorously, rebellious curls dancing around his pale face.
"Promise!" He said, holding out his extended pinky-finger. Sam smiled and hooked his finger through Frodo's considerably smaller one; careful to not let his growing tears fall.
Frodo threw his small arms around Sam's neck, and spun around, rushing out the door.
Sam stood slowly and leaned against the wood-paneled wall. Turning from the door, wiping his wet eyes as he went, he wandered into the parlor, glancing out the ice-lined window as he went at his children playing outside.
'Gotta let go, Sam Gamgee. Gotta let go.'
~
October 19, 2003
~
Please, please review! I hope everyone enjoyed my visualization of Frodo Gamgee. I think he's so cute! Anyway; I'm up for suggestions on which Gamgee child to do next. I have a vague idea of what to do for Tolman (Tom) Gamgee or Bilbo Gamgee, but I would love your suggestions.
~
Glimpses of the lives of the Gamgee children.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Paper Crane: Glad you liked Peregrin and Meriadoc's personalities. Hobbit fics are the best! This chapter's for you. Thanks for the suggestion of Frodo lad.
GamgeeFest: Sorry! I know Peregrin and Pippin aren't related. Those are just terms of affection. Thanks for pointing that out! Also, glad you liked my way of determining names.
Ayslin: Thanks! You really should post your fic. I would love to read it!
Now, on with the fic.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Two: Frodo Gamgee
In which Frodo lad promises and Sam Gamgee learns to let go.
~
Note: The year is 1433. Frodo lad is 10, Elanor is 12, Rose lass is 8, Merry is 6, and Pippin is 4. Again, Frodo might be called just 'Frodo' because he is the only Frodo there now. There are others of course, but they are not in this story. Also, I know many peoples' concept of Frodo Gamgee was probably not like this (mine wasn't until I started typing actually), but I like it. So if you could alter your hard-set image of the little guy (if you have one), we can continue with my version of Frodo lad.
~
Bag End finally received its first true snowfall the winter of 1433, and Frodo Gamgee could not have been more thrilled. The only other good snowfall he had experienced had been seven years ago when he was three, and was considered by his 'overprotective' parents too young to go tromping through that deep a snowfall and catching a cold -- or worse.
'Or worse'. Frodo Gamgee had never been exactly a 'healthy' child. He never really caught a cold; it was always something worse. He had taken ill with pneumonia three times in his life, and had obtained and bearly conquered scarlet fever just the last winter. His frequent illnesses were often attributed to his diminutive size, but none were sure if it was this cause, or the other way around.
No hobbit was certain if it was for these reasons, or other completely different ones, but whatever the reason, Samwise Gamgee tended to worry over his eldest son more so than the rest of his children. Most simply dismissed it as the lad's tendency to sicken easier than other hobbit children and left it at that, but Rose Gamgee knew better. It was poor Frodo lad's name that drove her husband to be so watchful of the lad.
It was truly a token to Frodo Baggins' name that Sam treated his son that way, though Frodo lad never saw it that way. He was not allowed, though he was certainly old enough to by all hobbit rights, to climb trees, swim unsupervised, or usually play in any snowfall to bless the Shire.
But it did not matter whether Sam judged Frodo lad allowed to go out or not; Rose Gamgee had finally put her foot down on the matter.
"It's ridiculous," she finally stated to her husband. "He's ten, Sam! He needs to play with the other lads, not stay cooped up here all the time with a book, dreading of even sneezing for fear that you'll stick 'im in a bed! Every time you worry he might be sick he is." Here Rose's face softened at the stricken look on Sam's face. "He's just as tired of it as you are, love; but you need to let 'im go." Rose knew well enough why Sam thought this way, and one could really not argue with her theory.
The resemblance between Frodo lad and Sam's master was remarkable. Her son had the Baggins' appearance in completion, from his uncommonly dark hair to his startling blue eyes. But no matter how much it hurt Sam, Frodo lad had to be allowed to be normal. Lads got scrapes and bruises, they got sick, that was life; but when it happened to Frodo lad it was more -- with him it might as well have been the mortal wounding of Frodo Baggins. It somehow always seemed the same to Sam.
Sam knew his wife was right, though his own problem was more than being tired of it his son's mishaps. He agreed to Frodo's being allowed outside, but insisted on making sure his son was bundled up heavily before allowing him to set foot on the doorstep.
Frodo, upon hearing the terms of his being given admittance to the wondrous blanket of white outside his window, was ecstatic. He practically flew into the entry hall to await his father. Elanor, Rose lass, Merry and Pippin were already congregating there, struggling with assorted coats, mittens, and scarves. Frodo quickly snatched his coat off a hook and donned it with more skill than he had expected himself to have, having had few opportunities to go outside when coats were needed. Sam came into the hall as he was finishing with his mittens just as Merry and Pippin were finally heading out the door, having disentangled from the wrestle-argument concerning which scarf was whose.
"Here you are, lad." Sam murmured as he knotted a large blue scarf around his son's neck. "Now you keep that on, hear?"
"Yes, da'." Frodo had adopted all seriousness, for fear of his da' changing his mind at the last minute.
"Now your cloak, son."
Frodo's face fell. "Da'--" But the look on Sam's face silenced the oncoming protest. "No one else is--" he mumbled under his breath, but Sam's hearing was as good as ever.
"An' no one else seems to have your taste for catching every illness in the book." Sam countered as he wrapped the cloak around Frodo's tiny shoulders.
Frodo felt tears slowly begin to pick at the corners of his eyes, and turned his head down, so as to not let his da' see them. "It's not my fault." He whispered.
Sam looked up from the small broach he was clasping on his son's cloak to Frodo's hidden face. Small brown curls hung over the lad's eyes, painfully reminding him of the way Mr. Frodo had looked as they struggled through Mordor; head downcast, so Sam would not (or so Frodo had hoped) see how hard the task was for him. A small gasp escaped Sam's lips upon seeing the resemblance, and he came dangerously close to commanding his son to remove his coat and never leave the house ever, but the look in his son's eyes as they were finally raised stopped him.
"I'll be careful, da'. I won't get sick again. I promise!" Frodo's eyes were wide and hopeful, tearing all resolution in Sam's heart; and the former Ringbearer smiled.
"You make sure you don't." He commanded with mock seriousness, leaning in to look his son in the eyes. Frodo nodded vigorously, rebellious curls dancing around his pale face.
"Promise!" He said, holding out his extended pinky-finger. Sam smiled and hooked his finger through Frodo's considerably smaller one; careful to not let his growing tears fall.
Frodo threw his small arms around Sam's neck, and spun around, rushing out the door.
Sam stood slowly and leaned against the wood-paneled wall. Turning from the door, wiping his wet eyes as he went, he wandered into the parlor, glancing out the ice-lined window as he went at his children playing outside.
'Gotta let go, Sam Gamgee. Gotta let go.'
~
October 19, 2003
~
Please, please review! I hope everyone enjoyed my visualization of Frodo Gamgee. I think he's so cute! Anyway; I'm up for suggestions on which Gamgee child to do next. I have a vague idea of what to do for Tolman (Tom) Gamgee or Bilbo Gamgee, but I would love your suggestions.
~